Johnlock- After You Return
by MytimelordnameisTheShipper
Summary: This is a Sherlock fanfic about what happend to John and Sherlock after Sherlock's return. Could contain sexual parts.. but not hardcore ones..
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold morning in London. John was lying on the bed, facing the window. It has been 3 years since. 3 long, dreadful years. John looked out of the window. Cars drove through the streets. People walked on the sidewalks. Everybody looked so happy. But not John. Ever since Sherlock died, John wasn't himself. He was a shadow of himself. He hasn't smiled for the last 3 years. John Watson was truly heartbroken. It was a rare event when John made something else than tea. Mrs. Hudson tried to cheer him up every now and then, by taking him to a nice restaurant. It never cheered him up. If it did something, it was to remind him of Sherlock. John was also growing a beard. Not because he wanted to, but because he was far too lazy to shave every morning. Every now and then Mrs. Hudson forced him to shave, but it didn't take long before the beard came back.  
John heard a knock on the door of his room."Come in Mrs. Hudson." He said, automatically assuming that.  
The door opened silently, as someone walked through it. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson. Not at all.

The person who came into the room stroked John shoulder gently. "3 years. 3 long years without him. You know, Mrs. Hudson, the only reason I didn't killed myself right after him was that you never let me go through with it. But it is not the same without him." The person climbed into John's bed, and his hands hugged John from behind. He hugged John closely, wanting to stay like this forever.  
"I really want him to come back. Sometimes I just sit there and wait for him to burst in, with the spark in his big, deep blue eyes. I want him to come back. I want to hear his violin again. But with every day that passes, I believe less than before." Tears went down John's cheeks. One hand of the person that hugged him moved to John's face and cleaned up his tears. The person head was on John's shoulder, and his cheek pressed against John's.  
"If he will ever come back, I know exactly what am I going to say to him. I will tell him how mad I am; how he left me alone for 3 years; how much I missed him." The person hugged John even tighter, and whispered in his ear. "I missed you too John." John turned around. "Sherlock?" he said in surprise. Sherlock smiled and kissed John, as he still hugged him tightly. Sherlock had those soft, tender lips. For a guy who never kissed someone, he was quite a good kisser. Slowly, Sherlock pulled his lips away from John's. He looked in John's blue-green eyes, and kissed him again. John's mind just forgot of everything he wanted to say to Sherlock if he would come back. He just kissed him and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him to a tight hug. John was thrilled. He felt the soft cloth of Sherlock scarf. He felt the scent of roses coming from his shirt. After they finished that very long kiss, John smoothly slipped down, and Sherlock's arm was still wrapped around his shoulder. His head was on Sherlock shoulder. They stayed like that for hours, until John's phone rang.

John leant over to reach his phone, but Sherlock pulled him back. "Sherlock. I need to answer the phone."  
"No. we are cuddling."  
"It might be important."  
"What could be so important right now?"  
"I might know, if I could just reach my phone!"  
"Fine."

John leaned over Sherlock, trying to reach his phone. Sherlock quite enjoyed that.  
"Hello?"  
"John Hamish Watson, where the bloody hell are you?! You were supposed to be here about 2 hours ago!"  
"I am so sorry, Lestrade. Something important happed, and I totally forgot. But I will make up for it, I swear."  
"John, I know that it has been 3 years now, but you must move on. You can't do that kind of stuff. I want you here in 10 minutes." Lestrade hung up the phone.

John threw the phone beside him. He sat down on the bed. Sherlock hand stroked his back.  
"Was that important?"  
"Yes. It was Lestrade. He wants me at the crime scene in 10 minutes."

John pulled himself out of the bed, but Sherlock grabbed him back in.  
"Sherlock?"  
"What?"  
"I really need to get up."  
"So?"  
"He will kill me if I would be late. And _**we**_ need to get up."  
"We?"  
"Yes. You are defiantly coming with me."  
John got up, and Sherlock jumped on him, wrapping his arms around John, as he hugged him tightly from behind.

"Sherlock, let go of me."  
"No."  
"But I need to get dressed."  
"Fine. But afterwards I am not intending to let go of you."

Sherlock let go, cursing Lestrade for calling. He watched John put on a blue T-shirt. On top of it was his favorite jumper- the blue one with the green diamonds pattern. John put on his jeans, and wore his shoes.  
He walked over to the bed, and picked up his phone. "Are you ready?" he asked. Sherlock smiled, and leant over to kiss John.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes thought that he will never see John Watson ever again. He knew that Moriarty's assassins will be soon after him. They wanted him dead. More than anyone on this planet, and that includes Anderson. John didn't know about this. Sherlock would not tell him that. But he will not lie to John. Not now. He decided that he would tell him only if he would ask it.

Hugged in the cab, Sherlock and John craved for each other. Each one wanted the other so bad, but it wasn't the time. One thing though, Sherlock kept his promise. He did not let go of John.

The cab stopped at the crime scene. John went out of the car, as Sherlock hugging him from behind, making it very hard for John to walk. He paid the driver, and started dragging himself to the crime scene, as Sherlock was closer than ever to him. John said it was like hell walking around with a Sherlock glued to his back, but he quite enjoyed it. Sherlock enjoyed as well. He wanted to know what happened to John in the last 3 years, and what he was doing right now gave him all the information he needed to know.

John was unshaved. The last time he touched a razor was probably about a week ago. His beard was not very tidy, which means that he wasn't growing it for beauty. In a lucky guess, he probably shaved because Mrs. Hudson made him. There were bags around john's eyes, which meant that he was not sleeping well for a few months. _NIGHTMERES. _He smelled john's clothes. It didn't smelled like they were washed lately. He saw sadness in his eyes. His breath smelled from beers. All of this meant only one thing. John Watson mourned over Sherlock.

Lestrade spotted John from distance. He walked weird, like he was dragging something. "It's about time!" he shouted.

"Don't get angry, Greg. You know it has been exactly 3 years today. We are all having a hard time with it."

"But I need him now. He was around him all the time and he picked up a few things from your brother."

Mycroft nodded. "But my brother is dead. And John is having a hard time with it too. He walks a bit weird; do you think he has been drinking?"

"John? I don't know, maybe. But, he looks like he is carrying something on his back... I can't see what it is..."

And just like that, both Mycroft and Lestrade mouths opened wide, their eyes becoming bigger to see if the sight is real. On his back, John Watson was carrying Sherlock Holmes himself.

As John got closer to them, Lestrade could clearly see that it is Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello Lestrade." Sherlock said. Lestrade almost didn't recognize his voice. It was a bit deeper, and Sherlock looked… different. He looked tired, even a bit afraid.

"Sherlock? But you were… the blood tests said that… how are you alive?!"

"I have my ways. It was for your favor. Show me the body."

It was so Sherlock to react like that. But what did he meant in "for your favor?" Lestrade never understood Sherlock completely. But for now, he just wanted the case to be over, and he needed him for that. So he thought that maybe it will be better to just ask Sherlock later about it.

Mycroft did not look very confused from Sherlock's return. He looked like he expected it.

"Come with me. It is an easy one; I think you would be able to solve it very quickly." Lestrade said, and John followed him, as Sherlock still clanged to his back. As walking, they walked passed Mycroft. Sherlock face looked at Mycroft with a bit of surprise in them.

"You lost weight. Is it even possible?"

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. "Why are you surprised? I have someone who takes care of Me." he smiled and looked for a brief second at Lestrade.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. Suddenly, the amount of time that he hasn't deduced anything interesting came to his mind, big and loud. He couldn't read Mycroft. Of course, Mycroft was always a tricky one, but he just couldn't see anything. John was always easy, so he wasn't a problem. _I am just rusty. I'll do this case and I will be just fine. _He thought to himself. Sherlock detached himself from John.

"Are you okay?" John asked in worry.

"I'm fine. Just wanted to get a better look at the body."

They entered the room. The room was lightened. There was a big bed with purple sheets on it, and the room generally looked like a bedroom. A body was in the corner of the room.

Sherlock smiled. He needed a case after 3 years of boredom. He went closer to the body, and the smile disappeared. His mind went blank. He looked at the body, and not even one single theory came into his mind.

"So Sherlock, amaze me." Lestrade said sarcastically.

"John, please give me your medical opinion."

Sherlock tried to put himself together. He couldn't freak out now. Not in front of the entire Scotland Yard and his brother. John went passed him, whispering to him. "Are you fine?" Sherlock nodded, and waited for John's opinion.

"There are some bruises on the back of the head; clearly they could cause aconcussion. Looks like they were made by a baseball bat, or maybe a big log." John bent down and looked carefully at the face of the body.

"Her makeup is a bit spread on her face, seemed like she cried. She probably tried to resist to the murderer, and he hit her in the head. There is a bit of footprints on the floor, looks like male shoes, size 42, if I am not wrong. She is dressed very well, as if she was out with someone."

John looked around into the room. "This bedroom looks like the person who lived here is not living here for long; about half a month. So, we have a male murderer, female victim who went on a date and a flat who has been used for about half a month. I'll take a guess and say that our victim and the murderer were together, broke up, she moved up and went on a date with someone else, clearly to move on. He probably heard, came to her flat, as if to hurt her date because he clearly isn't over her, which means she broke up with him. She came back alone, and he accidently caught her. She tried to fight him but he hit her. Then he panicked and escaped. What do you say, Sherlock?" John asked and looked over to Sherlock, who looked clearly amazed by John. And it all made sense, he saw it now. He felt so stupid that he couldn't make these easy deductions himself.

"Yes, yes. You are right." Sherlock said, looking at the room, trying to find something else. But he saw nothing beside John's deductions.

"Good then." Lestrade said, as he placed his hand on John's shoulder. "Would you both like to come with me and with Mycroft for lunch? If you would like, we could sit at Angelo's." He turned to Sherlock. "We will go." John hurried to answer Lestrade before Sherlock could say something that might insult someone. "Great", Lestrade smiled. "We will see you at Angelo's in about an hour and a half?" He asked. "Sure. See you there." John said, and Sherlock nodded, as they went back to 221b Baker Street.

They walked silently. Sherlock turned his collar coat against the wind, and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He was thinking about what happened at the crime scene. How could he miss all of that? Why his mind stopped working? It was an easy case. Even John could figure it out, and yet, he couldn't. His thoughts stopped as John opened his mouth.

"Are you alright?" he asked, a bit scared.

"You asked me that for 3 times already. I'm fine." Sherlock lied angrily, as he shoved his hands even deeper to his pockets.

"What happened to you at the crime scene today?" John kept asking.

"What happened to me?" Sherlock said, trying to sound like he really didn't understand what was going on.

"Why did you let me do the deductions?" John asked, as Sherlock breathed with relief. He didn't saw that he couldn't do those simple deductions.

"I wanted to see how you do them." Sherlock lied. "If in the last 3 years Lestrade gave you cases, I wanted to see how you solve them."

John smiled. "You knew everything from the very first second you came in, didn't you?"

"Obviously." Sherlock lied.

They reached 221b Baker Street, and started to get ready for lunch.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Author's note: Thanks for the comments! I'm happy to know people liked the story and that they are watching it... :) This is a long one, but there is also Mystrade in it... Please comment if you liked it!_**

John was now wearing his black T-shirt beneath his blue blazer, his favorite pair of jeans and his sneakers.  
Sherlock set on the sofa in his thinking pose: his legs were folded, every finger of his hand touched the one in front of her, and they were tucked under his chin, two of his fingers touching his soft lips. John stood behind him, slowly playing with Sherlock's dark curls.  
"What are you thinking about?"  
"Nothing." Sherlock said, and lifted himself quickly off the sofa. But he was thinking about something that bothered him deeply. Why he couldn't have made those simple deductions? They were easy enough for him; even Anderson might have solved it. So why couldn't he? What the bloody hell stopped him?  
"You know I'm here for you, right? I am always here, Sherlock. You can always talk to me if you are troubled." John said quietly. John felt that something was wrong. Sherlock would never miss a chance to show off. Ever. And today he did. And it made John wonder what happened to him. And then he saw it. Was there a slight chance that Sherlock didn't solve the case? Is there a chance that the Consulting Detective, the amazing Sherlock Holmes, was clueless? He knew that Sherlock will be offended from the question, but he had to ask him.  
"Did you even solve the case yourself?" he asked, a bit angrily, but he didn't mean to sound angry.  
Sherlock began to feel nervous. He pulled the collar of his shirt a bit, like he is having hard time breathing. "Are you ready? We don't want to be late."  
"Sherlock." John said. Now he was really angry. "Answer my question. Did you solve the case today?" He said, emphasizing every word.  
Sherlock didn't answer. He stood silently, pulling the collar of his shirt.  
"You didn't solve it." John said. There was a slight disappointment in his voice.  
"I don't know what happened. My mind… it just went blank. I couldn't deduce anything." Sherlock said quietly. "Are you mad?" he asked in fear. The worst feeling in the world was to make John angry. He hated it.  
"I'm not angry because you didn't solve the case. I'm mad because you didn't tell me and you acted like you solved it." John took a deep breath. "Come. I don't want to be late."

It was a bit cold outside. John was silent. He was angry. Not just because of the case. Sherlock disappeared for 3 years, and he just came back like he went for 5 minutes. John wanted an explanation, and even more, he wanted an apology. Sherlock didn't even ask him how he was in the last 3 years. Earlier this morning he thought that he probably deduced it; but now he wasn't sure at all.  
Sherlock was quiet as well. But he wasn't angry. He was sad. He knew John was upset, but he couldn't think of anything to tell him that will make him happy.  
"A bit cold, isn't it?" Sherlock asked.  
"I am not talking to you." John said angrily.  
And then, Sherlock understood it all. He understood that John wasn't angry just because of the case. And he knew exactly what to do.

"John, stop." Sherlock said and grabbed John's arm to force him to stop.  
"We will be late." John said angrily, and tried to release himself from Sherlock.  
"No. Stop and listen to me. Do you know what happened? The day I faked my death? Do you know what made me do it?" He held John even tighter.  
"I don't. And I bet that none of your reasons is good enough to make me believe that what you did was good. You left me for 3 years, Sherlock! 3 years. I tried to kill myself. Twice. I couldn't live without you. And now you just come back, like nothing happened! So no, Sherlock, so many things happened. Have you ever thought about asking me if I were okay, or apologize to me for leaving?" John was on the limit of shouting. Sherlock held his arm tight, and he couldn't escape.  
"I did it for you." Sherlock said, his big blue eyes catching his gaze.  
"How? By leaving me alone for 3 years? By letting me feel so bad that I wanted to die?" John said, still thinking that Sherlock needs to apologize.  
"On that day, I got a text from Moriarty to come to the roof. When I came, he forced me to jump. But I knew he would do that; I was prepared for this. With a bit help from Molly and Mycroft, I could manage to get a body in a standby; just in case. And he… he told me to jump. He said that if I won't, he will kill you. And Lestrade. And Mrs. Hudson. So I confused him a bit, and he killed himself. That way I could do it and he won't kill you. He had assassins ready to shoot you, and only he could cancel it. And I knew that you must believe that I really died, just to make the assassins believe that too. So I jumped to a truck just beneath the building, and someone put the corpse that was there on the ground. You were far enough to see me jump, but you didn't saw me landing. When you got closer, the bike made you fall, so you couldn't see it wasn't me. We were very similar; but if you weren't dizzy you would have noticed it. And I waited 3 years just to make sure that you will never get hurt. Ever." Sherlock took a deep breath, and pulled John close to him, hugging him tight, putting his nose in John's golden hair. "I'm sorry John." Sherlock whispered to John, hugging him even tighter.

John Watson could not believe his ears. For some reason, he thought Sherlock was lying to him. But it was _Sherlock Holmes_. He was confused.  
"But how did you know that he will make you jump?" He asked, as he buried his face in Sherlock's blue scarf.  
"I had a feeling." He said to John.  
At that moment, all John wanted to do was to stay close to Sherlock and to never let go. Just to feel him, smell him, hear him. He wanted that all of his senses will be filled with _Sherlock_. But they needed to go to lunch. Slowly, John let go of Sherlock. "Come," he said softly, "We need to get to lunch.

Lestrade and Mycroft stood in front of Angelo's. It was about 2, and Sherlock and John haven't arrived yet.  
"Where are they?" Lestrade said nervously, as he looked at his clock.  
"Calm down. They haven't seen each over for 3 years. If I may guess, there are 2 options. In one they are still in 221b baker street, shagging. In the other, they are having a fight about Sherlock's disappearance." Mycroft said, calm as he always was. He reached his hand over Lestrade's shoulder, pulling him closely.  
"I really hope it is the second one." Lestrade said with a smile.

They could have spot Sherlock and John in the distance. Lestrade waved them, and they got closer. When they were close, but not enough to hear them, Mycroft whispered in Lestrade ear. "They had a fight." Greg never understood how Mycroft did it. He wanted to ask him, but John and Sherlock were too close.  
"What took you so long?" asked Mycroft, as he tried to sound like he had no idea what happened.  
"Small fight. But it is okay, we solved it." John said with a smile.  
"Should we come in?" Mycroft asked, as he looked over to Greg with his I-told-you-so smile.  
"Sure." John answered, and all of them went into Angelo's.

Sherlock sat silently. He was tired and ashamed. Ashamed that he couldn't solve the case. He ate his food quietly, not even listening to the conversation.  
"Nice work at the crime scene today." Lestrade said and took Sherlock out of his thoughts. Sherlock nodded in agreement.  
"It was mostly John's work." He whispered, as he took a small bite from his food. He wasn't hungry, but he knew that it drove John mad when he didn't eat. Mycroft's grey eyes looked at him, deducing every single detail about him. Mycroft eyes seemed colorless, but they were deep, and Sherlock felt a bit exposed. Sherlock lowered his eyes to his food, as he took another small bite. Over all, he took about 4 bites from his food. John was clearly not happy from that fact.  
"Sherlock, please eat." He begged to him.  
"I'm not hungry. And I ate a bit." Sherlock said silently to John.  
Mycroft's eyes looked at Sherlock again.  
"John, would you mind if I will take Sherlock from you for about 5 minutes?" Mycroft asked, as he sipped his water.  
"Sure." John said, and began talking to Lestrade. Mycroft got up from his chair, and looked at Sherlock, expecting him to get up as well. Sherlock sighed and got up, leaving with Mycroft. They stood outside, talking quietly.  
"Something bothers you."  
"Obviously."  
"What is it?"  
"Not interested in telling you."  
"Fine. Don't tell me. I already know."  
Sherlock looked a bit confused. "What do you know?" He asked.  
"You couldn't deducte anything at the crime scene today; you couldn't deduce me. Why?"  
"How did you know that?"  
"Oh, brother, don't be so naive. I can deduce as well. You might fool the Scotland Yard, but not me. You were gone for 3 years, and you won't take the first chance you get to show how intelligent you are? It can only mean that you didn't know." Mycroft looked at the street, and Sherlock didn't answer him. "Why, Sherlock?"  
"I don't know, Mycroft. My mind just went blank. I don't know why. Now be useful and take the cigarette pack out of your pocket and give me one." Sherlock said, half disappointed half angry, and reached his hand for Mycroft to give him a cigarette.  
"You don't smoke." Mycroft said softly.  
"Well, I need one. Now, hand me that bloody cigarette!" Sherlock said, almost shouting.  
"You don't smoke. It wasn't a question." Mycroft said, and his tone got harsher.  
"You are impossible sometimes, you know that?" Sherlock said angrily and stormed back into the restaurant. Mycroft sighed, and followed him inside.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's note:**__** wow. Way more followers to this story than what I thought it will probably get... So thanks for your support, and please review! Enjoy :)**_

After lunch, Mycroft and Greg walked home. They had a nice chat, until Greg stopped it, to ask the question that was in his head the entire time.

"How did you know it?"

"Knew what?"

"That they had a fight."

"Sherlock is not the only person who can make deductions, Greg." Mycroft answered softly, leaning on his umbrella.

There was silent, until Greg spoke again. "Do you know it? I mean, how did he come back?" Greg asked, obviously confused.

"I have some guesses." Mycroft said, not letting Greg see his small smile.

"You helped him, didn't you?" Greg smiled at Mycroft. His brown eyes met Mycroft's soft blue ones. Mycroft smiled and didn't answer Greg's question.

John and Sherlock reached 221b Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson wasn't home yet. They entered their flat, and John stood in front of Sherlock. Their eyes met, and there was a small moment of passion between them. Sherlock leaned forwarded to take the moment and kiss John, but before he could do that, John lifted his hand and slapped Sherlock.

Sherlock made a small step backwards from the power of this slap. He moved his jaw, hand on his cheek. Damn it, he forgot how strong John was.

"What was that for?" he shouted as John went to his room.

"Deduce it yourself!" John shouted back as he went upstairs.

Sherlock sat down on the sofa, trying to think what just happened. He jaw was aching, and his cheek was all red. John was angry. He knew that, but why? He couldn't figure that out. His deduction skills were really bad if he couldn't deduce why John was angry. So he thought that he would just go upstairs and ask him. That was not a good idea at all.

Sherlock knocked on John's door. He didn't answer. Sherlock opened the door slowly.

"Why are you mad at me?" Sherlock asked and stood in the middle of the room.

"Because. Now go away." John answered from the bed, covering himself with the covers.

"But I want to know what's wrong." He said and sat near John. His hand went and stroked John's back slowly.

"You are. You can't just come back without telling me where you were for the last 3 years. Don't try to distract me with your warm hugs, because they don't work. You didn't even ask if I was okay. And the worst of it, you lied to everyone today at the scene. Are you so egoistic that you couldn't say: "Sorry, I can't solve this"? You let me do it for you, and said you knew it all along. And I got zero credit for solving it because of your lies. I am sick of you, Sherlock Holmes. And one more thing-" John never finished his sentence, because Sherlock put his mouth on John's, pulling him into a long, sensual kiss. The kiss was amazing. Sherlock's lips were soft, and John could just keep kissing him forever and ever. He even forgot how mad he was. All of his feelings disappeared in this one, long, sensual, beautiful kiss. Sherlock pulled away for a second. "I'm sorry." He whispered, and kissed John again. Sherlock lips were soft, and John just forgot everything that was on his mind. All that was there now was three simple words- _Sherlock bloody Holmes._ And just like that, Sherlock stopped the kiss, and left the room. While John just sat on his bed, confused to death, Sherlock went down the stairs, smirking to himself. When he was about to get into the living room, Mrs. Hudson came through the door. "Sherlock?" she gasped in panic. "Hello Mrs. Hudson. Nice to see you. I'll be in the kitchen if you'll need me." Mrs. Hudson's eyes opened wide as she collapsed to the floor. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Sherlock shouted as he ran down the stairs towards Mrs. Hudson. "John! Get down here! Now!" he shouted in frustration. He heard John's steps running down.

"What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Hudson. She just saw me and collapsed or something, I don't know!"

John ran down to Mrs. Hudson and pushed Sherlock away. Sherlock just stood there, looked at John, both terrified and interested, until John shouted at Sherlock. "Sherlock, you bloody idiot! Call an ambulance!"


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock heard the ambulance alarm from the street. John told him to stay there, because they could only take one more person with them, and John thought it would be a good idea he'll go, because he is a doctor and all that. The ambulance drove away, as Sherlock just stood on the sidewalk, looking at the ambulance that drove away.

He entered back inside, looking at the bags Mrs. Hudson dropped at the entrance. He picked them up, and brought them up to her flat. He put the bags at the kitchen table, and quickly wrote down a note and placed it on the bags. He went upstairs to their flat, and sat down in his chair, waiting for John to come back.

"Heart attack. Obviously." John said, thinking about all the signs he saw.

"But she is fine now," the doctor told him, "you can go in if you want."

"Thank you, I'll go in." John nodded, and the doctor left. John opened the door silently, and entered the room.

"John dear!" Mrs. Hudson called for him out of the bed. John smiled and sat in the chair near her bed.

"Feeling better?" he asked. She still looked a bit wick, but John was pretty sure she is just fine.

"Yes, thank you." She answered. John remembered that Sherlock didn't say how Mrs. Hudson got the heart attack.

"Do you remember what happened? I mean, what made you fall?" He asked softly.

"I saw Sherlock." She said quietly, almost whispering. "He came down the stairs, and said he'll be in your flat if I need him. And I know he is dead; I just panicked. He even looked a bit like a ghost. Good thing you were there, dear; you basically saved my life." She said softly and took John's hand in hers.

"Oh, god." He said to himself. "Sherlock, you bloody idiot."

"What's that dear?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I think you need to know something. Well, Sherlock isn't dead. He faked his death. He claimed it was to protect us from something; I don't buy it. So you did see Sherlock, but he was so god damn stupid that he forgot that everybody was sure he was dead." John said softly, holding Mrs. Hudson hand.

"Oh, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson said and shook her head.

Sherlock was on the sofa, waiting for John to come back. He was bored to death, but he didn't start to shoot the wall like always, because he knew it would make John incredibly mad, and he already pissed him off. He was really close to insanity, when his phone buzzed. He jumped off the sofa, craving to something interesting, even if it was just a text. He opened his phone. A message from John. Sherlock heart skipped a beat. He unlocked his phone.

You are a bloody idiot. –JW.

Why? –SH.

Because you scared Mrs. Hudson to death. Did you forget that everybody thought you were dead? She got a heart attack. –JW.

Sherlock didn't know what to answer him. He never thought that he could scare someone to death. He put his phone back on the table, took John's laptop, sat on the sofa and started typing.

The next morning, the doctors said Mrs. Hudson was alright, and John took her back to 221B Baker Street. He walked her into her flat. Both of them were very surprised to see all the bags were taken to the kitchen table. John walked over, and spotted a note, written in Sherlock's handwrite. Sorry. He smiled and handed the note to Mrs. Hudson.

"I think you should get some rest, so I'll go upstairs. If you need anything, just say it." John said, waving her goodbye as he walked up the stairs. He was pretty damn sure that he would hear the bloody violin again, but the apartment was silent. The only thing John could hear was typing noises. But could that be possible? Sherlock never typed so fast. John opened the door slowly and heard the laptop closed fast and being thrown at the table. He could hear Sherlock running through the hall. He smiled to himself, and entered. His laptop was on the table. "Sherlock?" he asked. No answer. John grabbed his laptop and sat on the sofa. He opened the laptop, and found Sherlock's email open. He was in the middle of writing to someone. John knew it was wrong, but he scrolled to the top of the page. The name "Mycroft" appeared. So it was to Mycroft. And then he saw his name in a few spots. He knew it was so wrong, but he just couldn't. And he started reading.

Sherlock was pacing in his room nervously. When he heard John, he closed the laptop fast and ran to his room. When he got to his room, he remembered that he didn't close his email box. "Sherlock, you bloody idiot." He mumbled. He was writing to Mycroft, for some unknown reason. And it was about John. And if John will read this, Sherlock will lose everything. It wasn't bad things; but he used the whole "I'm not a sentimental man" thing all of the time to get stuff from John. He had an advantage. That email was more than just sentimental. It was the most sentimental thing that Sherlock ever saw. And he will lose his advantage. So he decided that it is already done, and he should just go to bed, because he sat down and wrote that email the entire night.

Sherlock lay in his bed, being unable to sleep. The door cracked open, and he could feel the glow of John's laptop lighting the room. Sherlock closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. "I know you're awake." John said, still standing at the door. "Why did you write that to Mycroft?" John asked, as Sherlock kept ignoring, pretending to sleep. John sighed quietly. "I'm making some tea. Would you like some?" He asked softly. Sherlock didn't replay. "Fine." John said, and closed the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's note: So I decided that you guys need to know what the heck Sherlock write to Mycroft. So I decided to upload the email. It stop in the middle, because John came in and Sherlock didn't finish it... So I hope you'll enjoy this, please leave a review, even if you hated it, tell me why, I would like to know. Thanks for everyone who made a comment about the story; your opinion is very important to me. _**

_Mycroft,_

_I have no idea why I am writing to you. You probably won't help much, but you are the government, so maybe you understand more than I do._

_I am a bloody idiot. I really am. I just keep messing things up, and it seems like it would never stop. John doesn't believe that what I did was for him. He still doesn't understand why I left him for 3 years. He is hurt and mad, I can see it. Mrs. Hudson just got a heart attack because of me. I am a failure. I can't deduce anymore. In our last case, John solved it all. It wasn't me. I just went blank in there. Everything I knew just disappeared. And I just couldn't say "I don't know." It was too hard, Mycroft. And Anderson was there; he would remember this for me for more than a life time. And I don't know what happened there. I can barely deduce John. And it hurts so much knowing that the one you truly loves sort of hate you right now. He is so mad at me. I can hear it in his voice and I can see it in his eyes. He is hurt. And the worst part of that is that sooner or later he will wake up and realize that I am not worth it. That I don't worth all of the troubles he is having because of me. And then he will move out. I don't blame him. If John would have faked his death and come back 3 years later, I would probably be a bit upset as well. But I don't know what I would do without him. I don't want to hurt him anymore. He is my blogger, and I will be lost without him._

_I don't know what to do. I really think that I can't cope. I want John to be happy, I really do. And I don't make him happy. Because of me he is at the hospital right now with Mrs. Hudson._

_For maybe the second time in my life, I don't know what to do._

_I need your help. What do you think I shou_


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